La Lune
by civilized
Summary: The infamous marriage between Draco and Astoria was supposed to end the post-war societal feuds, but when Draco is left with a son and a complicated affliction, he wants nothing more than to escape the spotlight. HPDM slash, slightly AU, creature!fic.
1. Introduction

This was recently (as in yesterday) called _La Langue d'Amour_. It has since been renamed _La Lune_.  
>Anyways, this was just a random little plot that popped into my head. It's going to take some prodding (and some motivation) to get it out onto here with any semblance of organization, but I suppose I should give it a shot.<br>This is merely an introduction (only 666 words - weird, I know), and further chapters, should I choose to continue this, will be much longer.  
>If I do end up continuing, I expect to get anywhere from 20-30 chapters out of it, maybe more (maybe even a sequel!), but I don't want to get too ahead of myself. We may not even progress much past this.<br>A few warnings: in later chapters, this fic will include explicit slash, lots of drama, and probably a heavy topic or two. Also, this is a creature!fic, so if you're not into that, be my guest and leave.  
>Oh! And before I let you read this chapter, I'd like to let you know that I am not a huge fan of giving away the whole plot all at once (or even the whole plot at all). This may be confusing, and you will certainly have to read between the lines a bit, but I am a firm believer in readers doing a lot of the story-telling. What would be the fun of reading if you didn't get to speculate a few plot points for yourself?<br>Enjoy!

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_La Lune_  
>Introduction<p>

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Draco sat by the window in his room, watching a thick summer storm roll across the hills of the Far Gardens. The Near Gardens and the Peacock Pens had not yet received a drop of rain at all this summer, which wasn't saying much as it was only mid-June, but it was unwelcome just the same. It meant that Narcissa had to tend to her prized roses and lilacs with more care than usual, it meant that Lucius' knees would ache and he would complain incessantly, and worst of all, it meant that Draco was confined to his wing of the estate, watching over his sleeping son and wishing he could venture out and over the ever-expansive grounds.

_Just another reason to blame the muggles,_ Lucius had said. _They pollute everything, even the rain._

He'd been mostly kidding, of course; with the marriage of Draco to Astoria Greengrass, Lucius had successfully secured entry into the elite social class once more, but had also sacrificed most of the principles he'd once held dear. The sudden willingness to change was a great surprise to anyone who didn't know the Malfoys personally, however, most of those close to the old family knew that Lucius would do anything in his power to keep their name proud, even if it meant accepting things that had once seemed ludicrous to even consider.

The Greengrasses were known by many as the idyllic purebloods: they were elite, they were entirely pure in their ancestry, but they also had a strong moral background and a low ratio of inbred offspring. The marriage of Draco and Astoria was the bridge between the two worlds, and was seen by most of the upper wizarding community to be the end of the social and political post-war feuds. The wedding was a royal affair, talked about for months before the actual event, and each of the families had to hire representatives to speak for them whilst they planned. It was all they could do to actually put together the marvelous occasion, and after many, "No, _really_"s and, "Please, let _me_"s was eventually decided to be funded by the Malfoys and performed at Versailles; anybody who was anybody was going to be there.

Before the wedding, tabloids detailed potential dress choices, flower arrangements, the who's, what's, where's and when's – _The Daily Prophet_even issued photos of the power couple out doing the most mundane of things, like purchasing trainers and tending to the famous Malfoy Peacocks.

Of course, une fête as grand as a Malfoy-Greengrass union did not disappoint; the wedding gown was beautiful and the bouquets were flawless and the choices for ring-bearer and bond-caster were impeccable. Astoria's younger brother Jayce didn't trip down the aisle, Lucius cast the bonding enchantment without fault; everything was set to go off perfectly.

However, this wouldn't be a story if something didn't go wrong, and _The Daily Prophet_ would've likely stopped writing about it by now if the wedding had gone as planned.

Here, nearly four years following that evening in Paris, Draco was still being talked about, and his life had been irreversibly changed.

The twenty-seven year old narrowed his eyes at the clouds tumbling over the hills at the Far Gardens and begged them to come near, to dump their rain and get on with it, at least to make Lucius stop whining about his knees in the lounge – but the dark storm continued on, beginning to spill over the Silver Lake at the edge of their estate. Draco almost wondered whether he could risk it, whether it would be worth it to take a chance and spread his wings and _leave_ –

but the silver-blond man wrenched his eyes away, tearing his attention back to the quietly sleeping form of his only child, and took a deep breath. He would leave when the sun emerged, when he could think rationally. He would fly his son away from the nightmares of their past, into a place shadowed from the spotlight; Draco would soon escape.

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Let me know what you think in a review!

French translations for this chapter:  
>La lune - the moon<br>Une fête - a party


	2. Chapter One

Hello, everyone. Sorry this took a little while to get out, I was having technical issues. From now on, I expect to be getting a chapter out every week or so, maybe longer, depending on my level of schoolwork and the general craziness of life.

A note: I've put all the French translations at the bottom, so if you get confused, it should have all your answers (about French, at least). Also, we get a couple new perspectives in this chapter, but I think they're pretty self-explanatory.

Enjoy!

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La Lune  
>Chapter One<p>

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Lucius narrowed his eyes at his grandson running through the moonlit labyrinth of the Near Gardens, wondering when he'd gotten old enough to be a grandfather and have knees that ached the way they did. For all intents and purposes, his fifty-three year old knees should've been in perfect working condition – and since they weren't, he at least should've been able to charm them into proper functionality – but as it stood, there was apparently nothing his in-home medi-witch could do. In fact, Lucius had even overheard the woman insisting to Narcissa and Draco that technically, there was nothing medically wrong with him at all.

Which was a complete and utter load of rubbish.

If there was nothing wrong with his knees, then they wouldn't ache when it was too humid. Or too cold. Or too hot.

Or anything other than absolutely perfect weather.

No, he really was just far too young for such a malady; Lucius should've been able to follow behind his swiftly toddling grandson, should've been able to look after the boy in earnest while his own son slept the night away.

Which, for the life of him, Lucius did not understand. Why would a child of the moon sleep away his strong hours when he could be spending it with his son? Merlin knew the daylight was no good for Scorpius, and if the little boy wished to be awake at all during sun hours he was to be kept indoors at all times – but Lucius was still at a loss as to why Draco would relinquish precious time with the youngest of the Malfoys in favor of sleeping during the night.

"Scorpius!" the greying man called out sharply, turning his face against the light nocturnal breeze and rapping his redwood cane against the granite patio. "You're not to disturb the peacocks, Scorpius, they're _sleeping._" He looked out over the lilac bushes and gave another quick rap for good measure, calling, "And please keep close, mon petit-fils. It's almost mealtime."

Upon hearing no response and sensing that his grandson was not going to make this easy for him, Lucius cleared his throat loudly, giving the boy the stern, wordless message that he was not playing games.

The tiny silver-haired boy made a noise halfway between a giggle and a shriek, and disappeared further into the complex network of pathways, out of sight of Lucius and decidedly closer to the Peacock Pens.

The eldest Malfoy gave a labored sigh and wondered again why Draco, though not a strictly traditional fils de la lune, felt the need to waste his strong hours sleeping instead of caring for his son on his own.

Lucius may have been too young to have aching knees, but he was much too old to be left with such an arduous task.

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Draco felt the waves of prickling distress before he'd even fully awoken, and pulled back the curtains around his bed to find Scorpius turning the handle of his bedroom door as quietly as a sobbing toddler could. The three year old had barely cracked the door before Draco was there, bending to his son's height and deftly scooping the boy into his arms, cradling Scorpius against his chest. He felt the child turn his face to the side and press his ear to Draco's chest, and the sensed the comfort and relief spread through Scorpius with each solid pump of his own heart.

This was one of Draco's favorite things about being a father, because even though Scorpius kicked and screamed and didn't cooperate sometimes, he was the only to ever look up to him based on who he was as a person, rather than who he was as a name.

"What happened?" Draco murmured softly, tucking his son's still-trembling body further into the safety of his arms and bringing a hand up to run soothingly through the boy's fine, white-gold hair.

"I habbed a _n-nigh'mere_, daddy," he choked out, one set of fingers reaching up to fist in his fathers shirt as he lifted his tear stained face. Scorpius' big, silver eyes were only just relenting their torrents of tears, and he shifted again so that he could properly bury his face into his father's neck.

"'nd I know you t-told me nodda come in when you're sleeping 'nd it's suntime, but the sun's only – " Scorpius sniffled loudly, " – only a _liddle_ bit awake righ' now and I was tryin'a stay asleep but I habbed a nigh'mere, daddy, 'nd – "

Draco moved to rest his cheek on Scorpius' hair and chuckled softly against it, pacifying him quietly, "I'm not angry with you, Scorpius, I'm actually quite pleased you came and woke me. How was your evening? Did Grand-père Lucius play with you in the gardens again?"

This line of thought effectively distracted the boy enough for him to nuzzle a smile against Draco's neck, and he answered quietly, "Yeah."

Draco only had to pry a bit further, voicing an inquisitive, "Hmm?" before Scorpius was chortling through his previous tears and enthusing, "We did _so_ much, daddy. I godda play in the Near Gardens and play widda Pea-cucks but Grand-père Shush tol' me nodda play with them no more so I ran towards the Lake but he tol' me to come closer so he could watch me bedder so I hid in Grand-mère Cissy's lie-licks 'til he found me!"

Draco could feel Scorpius' pleasure radiating off his skin like warm honey and grinned, pulling away and pasting a faux-serious look on his face. "You didn't give Grand-père Lucius trouble, correct?"

"No, daddy," Scorpius intoned, his still-watery eyes becoming as wide and innocent as possible; only the slightest twitch of his lips gave him away.

Draco broke into a grin and spun them both to the bed, catching himself just over the now giggling child and wiping away the boy's remaining tears with one hand as the other began tickling him ruthlessly.

"Now let this be a lesson to you, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy," Draco said impishly, bringing their faces close enough to feel his son's quickened breath through his delighted smile. "_Moonchildren_," he ducked and planted a kiss on the center of Scorpius' scrawny chest, pinning the wriggling child with gentle, playful hands, "are _horrible_," his lips fell to just below the boy's ribs, making him squeal gleefully, "_liars_." Draco suddenly inversed their positions, lifting Scorpius and rolling beneath him, and tossed the three year old into the air above the bed several times, receiving wonderful shrieks of joy in return.

When an exhausted Scorpius finally begged for mercy, Draco pulled him up into the cradle of his arms once more and flicked his wand at the curtains, shielding his son from the damaging rays of sun that were just barely peeking in through the tall glass windows overlooking the Manor's grounds. It was nearly five in the morning, and the thick summer air held empty promises of rain; Scorpius cuddled in closer and Draco absently stroked the boy's shoulder-length hair, wondering if Narcissa would be the one to look after him that evening or if he'd have to bargain with Lucius again.

"Le so-lay?" Scorpius asked sleepily, turning his head away from Draco's hand but not making any further retreat.

Draco ceased the movement and looked down at his son lovingly. "Oui, mon petit chou. C'est dangereux, et il brûlera ta peaux."

Scorpius frowned as the alabaster skin between his eyes furrowed worriedly, and fought against the sleep that made his eyelids heavy before mumbling thickly, "Je say. Le so-lay aytay don mon co-shmarr. Saytay 'orree-bluh. Tooh broolay."

"T'en fais pas, mon petit coeur. Je suis bien," Draco whispered, feeling the child's fatigue and smiling warmly. "Vas dormir; je suis ici."

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Far away, Harry Potter was awaking to the sounds of screaming children. They weren't in any real distress – six year old James was likely tormenting his younger brother Albus, and little Lily had probably been awoken from the commotion – but it didn't matter any longer, because now the twenty seven year old single father of three was getting out of bed, groggily pulling on a t-shirt and sweatpants and trying not to feel the daily disappointment over who was in his bed at that very moment.

The woman tangled in his sheets rolled over and groaned at the loss of her bed partner, earning herself a slight glare of annoyance that Harry only barely concealed.

"I'll make them breakfast, if you want to shower first," the dark-haired man offered tightly, heading out their bedroom door without waiting for an answer.

Ginny had been gone all of three days before the first letter had arrived. It had read something along the lines of, "Dearest Harry, I apologize for your dreadful loss, but now that you're on the market, I was wondering if you would be interested in going out for drinks sometime?" and they hadn't stopped there. In fact, that was probably one of the more tactful letters of hopeful courtship he'd received.

They were pathetic, really, and when Ron hadn't been distracting them both with plentiful conversation regarding Quidditch or work or his own two children, the red-haired man had cracked jokes about how Harry could have any woman he liked.

But that was the problem, really, and no matter how many times Hermione had subtly tried to steer Ron in the right direction, he just didn't understand that there _was_ no other woman for Harry. Ginny was gone, taken from him with the birth of their daughter, and it felt, at times, like bits of himself had broken off and died along with her.

And then, a month following Ginny's passing, Hannah Abbott had come to Harry, asking him if she could stay at his house for a while, due to a relationship that had gone horribly wrong.

It was a quick fix, really. Harry's children needed a prominent female figure in their lives; Hermione and Molly were nothing compared to someone who could live in the house and be there when the children needed. In addition, Harry had been feeling severely lonely and guilty. He'd been the one to impregnate Ginny, and he'd been the one who couldn't save her.

But then here was Hannah Abbott, a charity case to ease his mind and an adult to keep him company – and he'd honestly never meant for it to turn into anything more – and he was free, for a little while. The first few weeks were a bit rocky with the kids, but Harry had persuaded them that Hannah was just going to be there for a little while, and that she was famous because she worked at the Daily Prophet, and wouldn't they like to go see what it was like inside the biggest wizarding newspaper in Great Britain?

It was really only James that needed any persuading, and he _still_ wasn't fond of following any of the rules set by Hannah – Harry really couldn't blame his eldest son, to be honest – but progress was being made, slowly but surely, no matter how much Harry wanted to scream at her that she would never be able to replace Ginny in their lives.

He supposed that, to her credit, Hannah was filling the role of temporary-mother to his children just about as best as he could expect from someone with no experience and only five months to learn. But it didn't mean he had to like it, and it certainly didn't mean he didn't regret the decision.

When the deal had been struck, Hannah was to occupy a room on the second floor of Grimmauld Place, nearer to the children than Harry's third floor bedroom, but a few doors down nonetheless. Days passed where this was the case, and Harry had almost begun to think of her as a live-in nanny of sorts. She cooked the children lunch, she brought them to the park – she'd even helped James with his writing practice at times. However, it soon became clear that Hannah wasn't aware of her position within the house. She would sit too close to Harry on the couch, and give him lingering goodbyes before bed; it had gotten to the point where the dark-haired father had almost wondered why they weren't sleeping together yet.

The answer, in retrospect, was obvious. Harry hadn't been sleeping with her because, just as he'd always been able to do, he had sensed that she wasn't worth face value. Perhaps it had been the way she'd 'accidentally' knocked over the picture from he and Ginny's wedding, or the way she constantly made back-handed comments about his parenting skills, but it was now clear that Hannah was someone he could do well without in his life, whether the children needed her or not.

And even now, as Albus grumbled, "Thank Merlin, I thought you were Hannah," Harry was beginning to realize that the children probably didn't need her all that much either.

But Hannah had pried her way into his bed one drunken night and it seemed that she hadn't left since. She had even referred to herself as his girlfriend once, a proclamation that Harry quickly tried to set straight, and earned himself their first argument. In the end, he'd given an exasperated sigh and conceded to letting her call them whatever the fuck she wanted, because he couldn't care less – which was a lie, of course – and as long as she didn't leave, he was fine – another lie.

Or at least, he liked to think it was a lie. Sometimes when she was gone reporting in far-away places for a few days, Harry would find himself actually missing her. Which was truly despicable, and not at all lost to his friends. Hermione was rather on the fence about their relationship, telling him that it was good he'd moved on, but that he could do much better and "shouldn't limit himself to a common slag like Hannah Abbott". Harry had only half-defended Hannah, telling Hermione that she was good with the kids and wasn't all _that_ bad. The bushy-haired healer had merely shrugged her shoulders, giving him a quiet, "well, if _you're_ happy…" before lowering her eyes and looking away.

Ron, on the other hand, was being absolutely mental about the whole thing. Some days he'd be furiously telling Harry that he couldn't believe he'd gotten over Ginny so quickly, because didn't their marriage mean anything?

Of course it did, and it was on those days that Harry fell back into the deep chasm of depression resulting from his wife's death, and promised himself that he'd end things with Hannah the moment he saw her again. But other times, Ron was pleased as punch over the whole affair. He'd rave about how Ginny would want him back in the swing of things, would've loved that Harry wasn't leaving their children in a home without a mother, and that even though his sister could no longer be there, all Harry had to do was call, and the red-haired Quidditch enthusiast would be at their door in an instant.

Which was sweet of him, to be honest. Harry had expected that both Ron and Hermione would've blamed him more for Ginny's death, and he almost wished they had – he deserved it. He had indirectly killed his wife, and as such, he should've been severely punished.

And this, he concluded, was at least reason enough to stay with Hannah.

Besides the fact that she was a decent shag in a lonely home, a mother-like figure for his children, and a damsel in distress that could quell his need to be a hero, she was just this side of unacceptable, making her perfectly suited to fit his needs.

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French translations for this chapter:  
>Mon petit-fils – <em>my grandson<em>  
>Un fils de la lune – <em>a son of the moon<em>  
>Grand-père – <em>grandfather<em>  
>Grand-mère –<em> grandmother<em>

Draco and Scorpius' brief conversation in French:  
>Scorpius: (original; "Le so-lay?" he means "Le soleil?") <em>The sun?<em>  
>Draco: (firstly, "Oui, mon petit chou.") Literally, this means <em>Yes, my little cabbage<em>. However, "mon petit chou" is a term of endearment, which is frequently used as something more along the lines of _my dear._ Or _my love._ (secondly, "C'est dangereux, il brûlera ta peaux.") _It's dangerous, it will burn your skin._  
>Scorpius: (original; "Je say. Le so-lay aytay don mon co-shmar. Saytay 'orree-bluh. Tooh broolay." he means "Je sais. Le soleil était dans mon cauchemar. C'était horrible. Tu brûlait.") <em>I know. The sun was in my nightmare. It was horrible. You were burning.<em>  
>Draco: ("T'en fais pas, mon petit coeur. Je suis bien.") <em>Don't worry, my little heart. I'm fine.<em> ("Vas dormir; je suis ici.") _Go to sleep; I'm right here._

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